


sleepless cinderella - yangyang

by starlightkun



Series: sleepless cinderella (wayv) [8]
Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: F/M, F1 Racer YangYang, Fluff, Happy Ending, Minor Angst, Race Car Driver YangYang, yangyang has a diet dr pepper addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26564590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightkun/pseuds/starlightkun
Summary: in which you get a lot more out of this interview than you’d planned for
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Reader
Series: sleepless cinderella (wayv) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931839
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	sleepless cinderella - yangyang

“Maybe I’ll just walk into traffic, that’s an idea,” you moaned in despair, sprawled out dramatically on your couch with your laptop perched on the table beside you, the screen right in front of your face, taunting you.

“You could,” Xuanyi agreed with a shrug, pushing your feet off the couch to be able to sit down herself. “Or you could stop moping and actually find a topic.”

“I’m trying, but nothing’s fucking interesting to me anymore. Maybe I’m destined to be a cold, soulless robot.”

Your friend scoffed at your dramatics, reaching over to take your laptop. Normally, you’d have tried to stop her, very protective over your most valuable piece of equipment. But today you had no fight left in you, just mild curiosity as you watched her type something out. When she turned the screen in your direction, you propped yourself up on your elbows to be able to read it.

_‘The VIP lounge. Hot guys. With cool jobs.’_

You narrowed your eyes, flopping back down onto the couch, “Xuanyi, I told you I’m not going back there.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t belong there.”

“And what does that have to do with anything? When has anything that little stopped you before? This is literally your degree and career on the table, and you’re willing to risk it because… you feel socially awkward? Sounds like you don’t deserve it.”

Xuanyi’s final words pierced through your self-pity, and you shot to your feet, spite coursing through your veins. You practically wrenched your laptop from her grip, stuffing it into your case and shoving your feet into shoes. In the very back of your head, you knew this was exactly what she wanted, as there was a noticeable smirk across her lips and a twinkle in her eyes as she watched you. But you were too pissed, throwing open the door without so much as a ‘goodbye’ to her.

You’re going back to the lounge, and you’re _going_ to get an article.

* * *

When you first walked in, you found it disappointingly empty. Maybe somebody would show up, you could wait for a little bit.

You had just sat down on the plush couch when a head popped up from behind the bar, cheery voice accompanying it, “Oh hi!”

Your first instinct was to hurl your laptop at the supposed threat. Thankfully you didn’t, it’d be a very expensive weapon. And another thankfully, was that your ‘threat’ was actually Yangyang, who was giggling as he set a couple sodas on the counter. Probably amused at the jumpscare he had just given you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there, Y/N,” he snickered, picking one of the bottles back up. “Catch.”

He tossed it to you then, and you somewhat gracefully caught it in your hand. Your eyes flicked over the label. Dr. Pepper. Diet Dr. Pepper at that. You raised an eyebrow as you watched him crack his own bottle open and chug down half of it in one go.

“I may or may not have a slight addiction,” Yangyang said sheepishly, screwing the lid back on before deftly sliding over the bar counter. “So you’re back, then. It’s been a couple weeks.”

“How do you know I haven’t come back before?”

He perched on the opposite arm of the couch from the side you were sitting on, “I’m kind of here _all the time_. I’d have seen you if you’d come before.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged as the boy knocked back the other half of his soda. “Yangyang, do you… want mine?”

Yangyang looked like he was genuinely considering it, eyeing the bottle still in your hands, “No, you can—”

“I’m fine, I really just want a water, actually. Here—” Your arm had barely been outstretched to offer it to him when he snatched it from your grasp.

“Thanks!”

You nodded to him, standing up from the couch. Once you were sure you were out of his sight behind the bar, you let your face show your internal ‘yikes’ at his apparent Diet Dr. Pepper addiction. You found one of the minifridges under the bar, thankful that you managed to open the one with bottled water on your first try.

As you took your first few sips, you desperately wracked your brain for what Yangyang’s job was. After all, you’d very briefly met seven men and learned all their occupations in just a few minutes. You were lucky that you could remember his name.

Was he the robot builder? No, that guy was such a jerk. The pilot? No, he was also kind of an asshole. Let’s think, ah, Ten was the one who rigged the raffle, and he was the doctor. You knew this wasn’t Yukhei the model, Dong Sicheng the actor, or your childhood friend Dejun the director, either. Process of elimination… F1 racer!

A _foreign_ F1 racer at that.

Now _that_ could be an interesting article.

“Yangyang,” you called out to him.

He spun around to face you, his new bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper already 2/3 gone.

“You’re an F1 racer.”

“Yep, and other kinds of race cars too. The occasional dirt bike sometimes.”

“And you’re not from Hong Kong, either.”

“Nope. Taiwan, actually. But I’m guessing you’re thinking of where I lived before Hong Kong. Germany. Düsseldorf, if you want to be specific. For quite a few years.”

You were a little amazed by how much he was just willingly giving you, and couldn’t help but pry even further, “So do you speak German?”

“According to my German friends’ standards, not very well,” Yangyang admitted with a small chuckle. “What about you? Live anywhere besides here?”

“Nope, this place has always been my home,” your eyes caught on the buildings and bustling city life outside the window of the skyscraper you were in. It’s all familiar, even if it’s from such a different perspective.

As your eyes trailed back to Yangyang, you could’ve sworn he looked almost lonely for a split-second before he took a much smaller sip of soda and that same bright smile came back to his lips.

“So, why did you come back? You didn’t seem to want anything to do with us.”

“I really did have no intention of coming back, honestly…”

“But?” He obviously knew where you were going when you trailed off.

“ _But_ I really need help with something.”

Yangyang quirked an eyebrow up at this, “And you think we could help you with it?”

“I really just need one of you.”

“Well, looks like you’ve got me. What is it?”

Walking out from behind the bar, you passed by Yangyang to grab your laptop case before hopping up onto one of the stools at a high-top against the window and setting your laptop back down on the table.

You crossed your legs, clasping your hands in your lap formally, “An article. I’d like to write an article on you.”

His mouth formed a small ‘o’ as he took a moment to think before saying, “Right, journalism student. What kind of article?”

“It’s my final thesis, I guess you could say. It’s my very last assignment before I graduate at the end of the semester. And if my professor likes it enough, she’ll publish it in the most notorious journal in Southeast Asia and have me intern with her.”

“So it’s a big deal.”

“Yes.”

“Well then I’d be happy to help, Y/N!” He grinned, downing the rest of the bottle. “If you don’t mind me asking you some questions of my own.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

He shrugged, “I think people are interesting.”

“Well, sure. Are you available to start now?”

You watched with mild concern as he approached the bar again, fearing that he’d grab a third bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper.

He didn’t, instead tossing his empty bottle in the recycling container behind it, “Do you have a recorder? Because I talk a lot.”

* * *

Yangyang _sure did_ talk a lot. It wasn’t mindless rambles, every little tangent he went off on was truly interesting. Sure, it didn’t always pertain to the idea of an article that was starting to form in your mind, but you liked hearing about them nonetheless. You hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until your hands were cramping up from typing, Yangyang had two more empty soda bottles beside him, and your stomach growled for food.

You glanced at the time in the corner of your laptop screen and saw that it was well past lunch. You’d been talking for hours.

“It’s 2 p.m.,” you informed him, cracking your fingers and rolling your wrists to ease the tension that had built up in your joints.

“Oh. Lunch?” Yangyang offered, hopping off the other stool at the high-top that he had migrated to during your talk.

“Uh sure,” you shut your laptop and put it away, but kept your voice recorder going.

Yangyang, however, reached over to turn it off on your phone, “No interview, just a normal lunch.”

Raising an eyebrow, you watched him saunter over to a panel on the wall catty-corner to the one with the TV. He tapped the screen and it lit up. Yangyang hummed to himself, scrolling through page after page of food options. Apparently, he finally found something he wanted, tapping it before turning to you.

“What do you want?”

“What do they have?” You questioned, joining him by the panel.

“Everything.”

It really _was_ everything, you realized as you looked through the menu yourself. Finally, you chose something easy and simple, then Yangyang submitted your order.

“It’s complimentary from the kitchens. Because we’re VIP members, you know,” he explained to you before meandering back over to the minifridges behind the bar again. After opening one, he tsked, “I should’ve asked them to bring more Diet Dr. Pepper.”

“You’re going to rot your teeth out before you turn thirty, you know,” you snorted, half-sitting half-laying on the couch.

“If that’s how I go, then so be it.”

“I didn’t say you’d die, you’re just going to have to get dentures.”

“Tasty.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re gross.”

“You’re rude,” he shot back, cracking open the soda he had just grabbed before hopping on top of the bar, his legs swinging off the side.

“Hm, sometimes.”

Your food came up soon, and you were too busy eating to continue your questionably playful banner from earlier. Yangyang was nice, friendly, and it was refreshing considering most of your memories of the lounge’s members were of those that didn’t want you there at all. Thinking of the other members again, you decided to ask Yangyang about them. He’d mentioned them a couple times during the interview, but you still didn’t know much about them.

“Yangyang,” you got his attention from where he sat across the high-top from you.

“Yeah?”

“How did you and the other guys meet, anyway?”

“Oh, boarding school!” His expression turned wistful as he reminisced. “Yeah, Kun and Ten were in their last year when I came in, they were roommates with Sicheng and Xiaojun; Kunhang, Yukhei, and me were roommates right across the hall. The eight of us were… nuisances sometimes.”

“Eight?”

“Xiaojun’s little brother, Chenle, was our fourth roommate.”

“Right, Chenle. I haven’t seen that kid in so long,” you tried to think back to your childhood, ten or eleven years ago when you last saw him. “He must have been no older than seven the last time I saw him.”

Yangyang chuckled, “He’s pretty much the same. Oh, I think he’s actually graduating this year? Yeah, Xiaojun’s been freaking out about it because his graduation is on the same day as the premiere of his new movie.”

“Why do you all call him Xiaojun? Unless that’s actually his name and I’m stupid and remembered it wrong.”

“No, no, you didn’t. His professional name is Xiaojun, so it just became habit for us to call him that.”

“Got it,” you nodded, stuffing another forkful of food into your mouth.

* * *

You were in the lounge with Yangyang, again, for the fourth day in a row. Cracking your back, you returned your hands to your laptop keyboard with a sigh, your eyes straying to the world outside the windows. Yangyang was going on and on about something, and while you were half-listening and registering the occasional word or phrase, you couldn’t help but zone out.

Then a hand tapped your arm, and your gaze snapped back to Yangyang as he questioned, “Are you bored by me, Y/N?”

He looked more amused than offended as he took his hand back and tilted his head to the side curiously.

“I mean… yeah, kind of,” you answered sheepishly, to which he practically guffawed.

“Why?”

“When you said that you were in the lounge _all the time_ , I thought you were being hyperbolic. Not literal.”

“Alright,” he put his hands up in surrender, chuckling. “Close your laptop. Let’s go somewhere.”

Not even questioning where he wanted to go, just too excited to be going somewhere else, you practically slammed your laptop closed before stuffing it back in your case and hopping off your stool. Yangyang grabbed a couple bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper before leading the way down to the first floor, then out to the parking garage.

You looked around in mild awe at the nice cars parked everywhere. Of course the patrons of the fancy new Qian Enterprises building would have nice cars. They were all sleek, polished to an impeccable finish, in varying shades of black and dark greys, definitely worth more than your student debt, and some were even running, holding drivers presumably waiting for their clients.

You briefly wondered which one was Yangyang’s, until you spotted an electric blue one at the far corner of the parking garage. The spaces around it were empty, as if the other cars had put it in quarantine for looking so out of place. And yet it was so… Yangyang.

He spun the keys around on his finger, a smile growing on his face as he clicked a button, the doors opening _up_ at the command, and your jaw dropping _way down_. With something you might almost call a cocky smirk, he leaned against the hood of the sportscar, watching as you hesitantly approached it. After all, repairing a single scratch on it would probably be more than what you make in half a year.

“Let’s get going, Y/N,” Yangyang deftly hopped into the driver’s side as you continued your slow steps towards the car. “Y/N! Hurry up!”

Startled by his sudden yell, you slid into the passenger seat, the doors closing down silently as soon as you had. The interior was even nicer than the exterior. Not the same shade of electric blue, you noted, but instead black with accents in a deeper blue. The seats were a soft leather, and you sunk back into it with a soft sigh of relief. You were pretty sure your own bed wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the seats of this freaking car.

Yangyang started the engine with a soft purr, pulling gently out of the parking garage. As soon as he got the opportunity, however, he slammed on the gas pedal. To your credit, you didn’t scream. Actually, a short and strangled giggle had escaped your lips instead. The pickup on this thing was insane, not to mention that Yangyang apparently had never heard of a turn signal as he weaved through the streets. There weren’t too many cars to make it a public hazard, just more of a public nuisance.

“So do you live around here, Y/N?”

Seriously, he was trying to make small talk? Considering he went much faster than this for his job, a little ride like this probably bored him. You, however, were transfixed by the quickly passing scenery.

“No, this is the rich part of town, dude,” you snorted, taking note of all the skyscraper office buildings and prime real estate apartment complexes. “No way three grad students could afford to live here.”

“Fair,” he conceded, taking a sharp turn that would have thrown you across the damn car if you didn’t have your seatbelt on.

“Hey, could you _not_ give me whiplash, please?”

“This is nothing, Y/N.”

“I’ve spent most of my life on public transport; high speed dicking around on streets in fancy sportscars is not my norm.”

Yangyang thankfully just seemed to find your comment amusing, snickering as he slowed the car down a little. When you glanced over at him, he was already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

Feeling a small flush rising across your neck, you scoffed, “Eyes on the road, Yang.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he returned his gaze to the road in front of him, and you went back to looking out the window, trying to figure out where you were going.

At first you thought maybe he was taking you to one of the rivers, or a hotspot in downtown, but when he took a slightly less than breakneck turn away from the hub of social activity, you got confused.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

The driver wordlessly turned on the radio, a song that reminded you of your youth playing through the speakers as he finally spoke.

“Do you have a hair tie?”

“What?”

“You’re going to want to pull your hair up.”

Confused, you did so, tying back as much of your hair as you could manage. As soon as you had, he rolled the windows down, and a slightly salty breeze flooded your nose and nipped at your face. You were nearing one of the beaches, the sights so breathtaking that you nearly forgot your original question.

As you continued riding, the road got less and less populated. Soon there were only a few cars sharing the asphalt with you two, but Yangyang would quickly pass them. Surprisingly, with this much more open stretch of road that offered prime opportunities for speeding, he seemed to be going slower than he had in the packed city center.

When you looked back to Yangyang, he had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting outside the window, the wind blowing his hair back away from his peaceful and grinning face. He looked like he was having fun. But where were you going?

“Yangyang, where are we going?” You asked with more force this time.

“Nowhere,” he replied simply, his fingers tapping out the rhythm of the new tune playing on the radio against the leather of the steering wheel.

“What?”

“It’s called a joyride, Y/N,” Yangyang said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it absolutely wasn’t, considering he had told you earlier that you _were_ actually going somewhere. “And right now you’re kind of sucking out all my joy.”

“If I’m such a downer, then why did you bring me?”

“You’re pretty cute for a party pooper.”

At his blatant compliment, you desperately averted your gaze to the passing scenery again and brushed his words off, “And here I thought it was because I had called you boring.”

“Well that too.”

You smiled a little at this, trailing your hand closer and closer to the open window until you fully stuck it out, palm up as if to catch the sunlight streaming down on you from above. The air was cool as it sped over your hand, but the rays of the sun were warm and soothing in an almost gentle caress. You closed your eyes, and with that darkness and stillness paired with the quickness and brightness of outside, you felt a new sense of contradictory peace.

Just for a moment, as Yangyang speaking up brought your focus back to the real world, “This isn’t quite how I imagined this going.”

“Imagined what?” You craned your head to look at him with frank confusion.

“The interview. I’ve never had many, and I don’t know… I expected you to ask different questions.”

“Like what?”

“My favorite word or something.”

“Your favorite word?” A laugh bubbled out from you. “You have a favorite word?”

“Well now that you’re making fun of me, I’m not telling you.”

“I’m not making fun of you!” You went to reassure him, “Please, Liu Yangyang, me and your millions of fans are _begging_ to know. What _is_ your favorite word?”

He rolled his eyes, but not without a tug at the corner of his mouth that he desperately tried to control, “Now you’re definitely making fun of me.”

“Alright, alright. But seriously, you got me curious, Yang.”

“Mellifluous,” he confessed firmly, and you continued looking at him with a thoughtful gaze. “What?”

You genuinely didn’t have anything to come back with, not expecting his favorite word to be that. Not that you had the faintest idea what it would have been. Just not that.

“Nothing, it’s a pretty word. What does it mean?”

“It’s usually used to describe sounds, sweet or having a musical quality to them. Generally pleasant to hear.”

“Strange coming from a man who listens to car engines rev all day.”

“Maybe I think the sound of car engines revving is mellifluous,” he countered, returning to your light banter from before.

You shook your head slightly, diverting your eyes to the outside again, “To each their own, I guess.”

Yangyang tsked as he changed the subject, “I wish I had brought the convertible, it’s definitely convertible weather today.”

“How many cars do you own?”

“Oh just those two, not including my racing cars. But neither of them can compare to those beauties,” he sighs wistfully as if talking about a lost love of his past, not a car that he drives in for a living.

As you looked back to the scenery, a familiar sizzle let you know that Yangyang was opening one of the bottles of soda. You didn’t look over, not wanting to find out how he had done it with one hand out the window and the other on the steering wheel. Your guess was no hands on the wheel.

He started veering away from the beach soon, requesting that you bring your arm back in as to avoid getting it chopped off by the window rolling back up. Which you quickly went to do, not wanting to find out if the power of the window mechanism was in proportion to the power of the engine. Yangyang chugged the other half of the bottle of soda he had been periodically sipping on, definitely not keeping his eyes on the road. You preemptively cracked open his other one for him, not wanting him to crash and kill the both of you because he was addicted to Diet Dr. Pepper and took his hands off the steering wheel to open one.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

Then, a garish ringing overtook the pleasant music previously coming from the speakers. A notification popped up on the center touchscreen of the car, it was an incoming call, the caller ID reading ‘Manager Huang.’ Yangyang pressed a finger to his lips to let you know to be quiet as he went to pick up the call over the Bluetooth.

“Hello, Manager!” He answered it cheerfully but judging by the immediate sigh he got in response, his manager was not sharing his mood.

“Yangyang, you do know that you have practice in twenty minutes, right?”

“Of course, I had a few errands to run first. I’ll be there on time.”

“What errands?” He definitely didn’t believe what his client was telling him.

“Oh you know, grocery shopping, car tune-up, interview—”

“I don’t think I like what this journalist is doing to you,” the man over the phone cut him off sharply. “You have a race in two weeks, and you’ve been late to three practices and completely skipped another since you started this _‘interview.’_ ”

Your stomach had already dropped just from his first sentence, but his emphasis on the word ‘interview’ made your eyes widen at what he might be trying to imply.

Yangyang mouthed a ‘sorry’ to you before replying just as cheerily, “It’ll be good press, Manager Huang.”

The manager scoffed, “Didn’t you say she’s a journalism _student_ whomight not even _have_ her piece published? The real good press will come from you winning this race. Which you won’t do if you carry on like this.”

“To put your mind at ease, I’ll have Ms. Y/L/N provide you a copy of her first draft to read over at the race next Saturday. Or better yet, she could drop it off sooner at a practice.”

“The race is fine,” he grumbled, finally giving up on trying to completely reign Yangyang in. “Seventeen minutes now, Liu Yangyang.”

“See you in sixteen then, Manager!”

With that, he hung up, and you let out a breath you had unconsciously been holding in for a good part of the phone call.

“Please tell me you live close to here,” Yangyang didn’t even address a single thing that had just happened, instead peering around at the area.

“Just drop me at a bus station if you need to get going that bad,” you managed an intelligent reply somehow, despite your gears still turning to process that conversation.

“It’s fine, you know how I drive, I’ll make it.”

“Okay,” you—just like his manager—gave up on trying to argue with him. “Take a right up there.”

In between giving directions, you let yourself release all your ‘ _what the fuck just happened_ ’s.

“First of all, I don’t have a rough draft to present to your manager yet.”

“You have thirteen days until the race, I’m sure you can whip something up.”

“Which brings me onto my next point, this is the first I’ve heard of you having a race or me going to it.”

“I’m sure I’ve mentioned it—”

“Left here.”

“Thank you.”

“You definitely did _not_ mention it,” you retorted. “Third of all, holy hell your manager has a stick up his ass.”

“Oh for sure.”

“Another left in a couple streets.”

“Got it.”

“And why the hell have you been skipping your practices? This is your entire life, dumbass.”

Yangyang was surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, really—not fazed by this, “And _this_ is your entire life.”

“What?”

“This interview. It’s what your entire career is hinging on, whether or not your professor publishes it and offers you the internship.”

With that simple but genuine sentiment, you were reduced to a nearly blubbering mess in the passenger seat of his car. Sure, you had friends and family supporting you and hoping for the best for your career, but this man was a complete stranger to you a few weeks ago, and was so willing to hurt his own life to help you achieve it. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful or terrified at how invested he was in you succeeding already.

“Thank you, but don’t be stupid, Yang,” you finally put those words together, just sincere enough and just casual enough. “Seriously, I can work around your schedule, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Seeing your apartment building coming closer, you pointed it out to him, “It’s that building on the corner.”

Yangyang gradually slowed the car down and pulled over away from the street traffic, watching you unbuckle your seatbelt with an unreadable but generally pleasant look on his face, “We should do this again.”

“Yeah, when you’re not in deep shit with your manager,” you snorted, waiting for him to open up the doors for you, too afraid of breaking it to do it on your own.

“Well then it’ll never happen, he’s always like that,” he snickered, pressing the button to open the door for you. “So I’ll see you next Saturday at the race?”

“And no sooner, because now I suddenly have to throw together an entire first draft of an article,” you informed him pointedly, stepping out of the car with your laptop case in hand.

“Better get started on that then.”

“And you better stop wasting time if you want to be there in—” you looked at the time on your phone “—ten minutes.”

“Easy,” he scoffed as the door started lowering again. “See you, Y/N!”

Before you could even lift your hand to wave, he had sped down the street again. You just hoped that he wouldn’t crash before you could finish your interview. Or at least see him again.

* * *

With one hand clutching tightly to your freshly printed first draft and the other to Xuanyi’s arm, the two of you followed Yukhei and Sicheng through the stands. The whole crowd was buzzing with excitement around you, and you just prayed that F1 fans and ‘hot men in popular culture’ fans didn’t have too much overlap, as your famous friends’ baseball caps and sunglasses weren’t doing much to hide their identities. The last thing you needed today was for them to be found by screaming fans with two women. As an aspiring journalist, you knew how fast rumors and bullshit could spread.

Originally, you thought that you were just going by yourself to Yangyang’s race, giving his manager your first draft, and asking him a few questions. But instead, Yukhei showed up to your apartment with Sicheng begrudgingly in tow, informing you that Yangyang had instructed them to escort you there. Xuanyi was coincidentally home, and easily got an invite from the friendly model. Chengxiao was going to _kill_ you two when she found out what you were doing while she was at work.

Your seats were the closest to the finish line, in a somewhat secluded area of the bleachers. Only a few other people were there, all too nicely dressed for going to a racetrack. Probably managers, agents, those kinds of people.

And Yukhei stopped right in there with them, gesturing for you and Xuanyi to sit before him and Sicheng. There was a familiar figure on the other side of Xuanyi, and you couldn’t hide your surprise.

“Oh hi, Hendery,” you greeted the engineer. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Contrary to whatever you think about me, I _am_ a supportive friend,” he scoffed, shaking some of his hair out of his face with an eye roll.

You took a deep breath, wanting to remain civil. After all, he was one of Yangyang’s friends, you had to try to get along with him, “I meant that Yukhei and Sicheng hadn’t mentioned that you would be here, is all.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, this is my roommate, Xuanyi. Xuanyi, that’s Hendery, he’s another member of the VIP lounge.”

“Nice to meet you,” she nodded her head to him politely as the two of you took your seats.

He made a small grunt of acknowledgement, and you didn’t even try to conceal your voice as you informed her, “He has a stick up his ass 24/7.”

So maybe you weren’t going to be as civil as you thought.

Yukhei on your other side tapped your arm, distracting you from Hendery. He was waving over another man, an older man, and you wracked your brain for who this could possibly be. Yangyang’s manager? Dad? Some other random guy Yukhei knows?

You stood with Yukhei to formally greet the man, your giant friend excitedly interjecting, “Y/N, this is Yangyang’s manager, Manager Huang. Manager Huang, this is Y/L/N Y/N, she’s doing the article on Yangyang.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you gave him your formalities before holding out the papers to him. “Here’s my first draft, as promised.”

With an unimpressed eyebrow raised, he accepted them from you, “Thank you. I will look this over later.”

“Will there be a chance for me to see Yangyang after the race at all? For the interview? It would be interesting to be able to question him right after a race.”

“I don’t think I could stop him from it,” Manager Huang grumbled before lumbering away.

“So…” you turned to Yukhei with slight alarm and confusion, “was that a yes?”

“I think so.”

* * *

Yangyang had a smashing victory.

The five of you were the only ones on your feet screaming and cheering that elite section, but you didn’t care.

He had won by almost two cars lengths, and you were jumping up and down in victory, screams and whoops coming from you as you grabbed at Yukhei’s arm, then Xuanyi’s as you all celebrated the victory. Even Sicheng and Hendery seemed enthused, Hendery pumping his fist up in the air and a grin overtaking Sicheng’s typical scowl. And you didn’t think anything could be brighter than Yukhei’s absolutely beaming smile.

That was, until you finally saw Yangyang.

After being shoved through the crowd and past security guards down to the pit, where you could fully see Yangyang in front of his car at the finish line, a reporter holding out a microphone to him, and camera pointed at him that you were sure was broadcasting this live on TV. But all that fell away from your mind when Yukhei enthusiastically yelled out his name in a loud whoop, and Yangyang’s blinding grin was pointed in your direction. You had never seen such pure elation on anybody’s face until that moment.

His eyes found yours, widening almost comically as he gave the reporter a rushed goodbye and jogged over to your small but deafeningly loud group. Yukhei slapped his back in congratulations so hard you were sure you heard a rib or two crack, Hendery offered him a high-five, and Sicheng even ruffled up his sweaty and matted-down hair.

Before you could even give him your own congratulations to him, Yangyang had blurted out, “I like you, Y/N!”

And everything stopped.

Your heart was still hammering in your ears and you became aware of the other four people there with you who had also stopped in their tracks.

“What?” Your question came out gargled in a strained chuckle, you didn’t believe your own ears.

“I like you!” He repeated, somehow even louder this time.

Fully panicking now, you latched onto his elbow and dragged him away from your friends, not needing _whatever the fuck was about to happen_ , to happen in front of all of them.

“Again, what?”

“I like you!”

You shook your head firmly, arms crossed protectively over your chest, “You’re high off adrenaline right now, Yangyang.”

“What? No, seriously, I want to like… date you!”

“We’ll talk about it in a few hours after it’s all out of your system.”

“Y/N, come on, it’s not like I’m drunk or anything,” he lightly grabbed your hand, giving you the option to easily slip out of it.

You didn’t, less panicked and now exasperated as you argued, “It’s a natural high, surely you watched those anti-drug videos in middle school too.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“And suddenly you’re a psychologist?”

“Deflecting again.”

“Yangyang, please,” you practically begged, eyes fervently flicking around to take note of exactly how many people were watching you right now. It was a lot. “Not here, not now.”

He took your other hand this time, “Why not?”

“Because—”

“Don’t look at them, Y/N,” Yangyang requested, and you forced your eyes to meet his again.

His eyes were literally shining, and in that moment, you could’ve believed that he held the entire universe in them. You shifted your weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, settling your gaze instead on the space right next to his ear. You couldn’t look him in the face right now, not when you didn’t even know what you were feeling.

“Can you—Y/N, please. Can I please take you on one date? I really _really_ like you. Really.”

Deep breath.

“One, Liu Yangyang. And you’re more than welcome to back down from it once the adrenaline wears off.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he promised, leading you back towards the others by your hand.

You shook your hand from his grip, stuffing it in your pocket.

* * *

Yangyang didn’t back down from it.

It was only a couple days later that you were back into one of his cars. This time it was the convertible, top down and ruining what little you had tried to do with your hair in preparation. He had neglected to mention that it was a _neon orange_ convertible, however, meaning that you got looks from occasional passerby and delighted children. You were pretty sure something this bright shouldn’t be street-legal for fear of blinding other drivers, but you also were pretty sure that wouldn’t faze Yangyang in the slightest.

“Are we going to an actual destination this time?” You questioned teasingly over the wind, earning a side-eye from Yangyang.

“ _Yes_ , we are.”

“Where are we going?”

“Have you no sense of mystery and adventure?”

“I’m a journalist, asking questions is kind of instinct.”

“Well right now you’re not a journalist. This is a date, not an interview.”

“Aren’t you also supposed to ask questions on a date?”

He puckered his lips as he seemed to think about this for a moment. Then conceded, “You’re right. But today I’ll be asking most of the questions.”

A slight smile graced your face at his determination, and you leaned back in your seat slightly, “Alright, then.”

Just a few moments later, he slowed the car and pulled into a coincidentally open parking spot on one of the busiest streets you’d ever been on. You were surprised that the sign by it didn’t have ‘RESERVED FOR LIU YANGYANG’ inscribed on it, as the street was packed. He must just have really good luck to come right after someone had left.

Right as you were about to open your door, it was suddenly thrown open by an excited Yangyang, nearly giving you a heart attack. Last you were aware of, he was in the driver’s seat, now he was suddenly on the sidewalk. You cautiously accepted his hand up and out of the car, looking behind you to make sure your phone wasn’t on the seat. You’d done that on the bus one too many times.

Yangyang still hadn’t let go of your hand as you had straightened up and stepped away from the car. You looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Streets are busy, I don’t want to lose you,” he explained with a mischievous grin as he started leading you down the sidewalks.

“Uh,” you stopped, tugging on his hand to get him to stop too, then gestured to his car. “Are you just going to leave the top open?”

“Nope,” he pulled the key back out and clicked a button, the top immediately folding back over the car and protecting what was inside.

Satisfied, you let him cart you through the sidewalks again.

* * *

Yangyang had chosen a quaint little hotpot restaurant, a sharp change from the lavish VIP lounge that you typically ate in together. You ordered from a real human being instead of a touchscreen, which was a pleasant difference as well.

He was right when he said that he’d be the one asking most of the questions. You’d never considered yourself exceptionally reserved, but he’d gotten details and memories out of you that you were pretty sure your own roommates didn’t know. Something about his earnest and sincere attention to you and eagerness to hear about you… the words couldn’t seem to pour from your mouth quick enough.

The waitress had just set your food down and left when you reached for your glass. And knocked the steaming bowl of broth off the table. Into Yangyang’s lap.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” You apologized fervently as he hissed in pain through clenched teeth at the piping hot liquid surely scalding his skin.

You grabbed napkins, half-standing but ultimately unsure of what to do as you looked on in horror at his now soaking wet pants and the mess of broth on the table and floor. Yangyang set the bowl on the table, and for some reason it almost looked like he was smirking.

“If you wanted to get my pants off so bad, Y/N, you just had to ask.”

His suggestive joke snapped you out of your fretful state, and instead you scoffed and shook your head. Your cheeks were hot as you finally decided to wipe at the broth that was on the table, sliding the napkin holder over to Yangyang without looking him in the eye.

Surely he was going to back down now.

* * *

He didn’t.

Not after that first date at his favorite hotpot restaurant, where you spilled almost boiling broth in his lap and instead of being rightfully mad, he made an innuendous joke.

Not after your second one at an amusement park, where he spent all of the cash in his pocket on one game trying to win you a stuffed penguin that you had off-handedly mentioned was cute.

Not after your third one at the star-studded premiere of Dejun and Sicheng’s new show, where you questioned how he still managed to smell like gasoline at such a lavish affair.

Either he was a freak of nature and running off the longest adrenaline high in history, or maybe he really was into you. That was a rather outlandish thought.

* * *

“Hey, Yang,” you answered his call cheerfully, holding your phone to your ear with your shoulder as you prepared some microwave mac and cheese for yourself and Chengxiao.

“Is that Yangyang?” Chengxiao’s head popped into the kitchen, and you cursed how small your apartment was. Every sound could be heard from anywhere in it.

“Yeah, now shut up,” you hissed at her, earning an indignant reply from the man over the phone. “I wasn’t talking to you, Yang, that was just Xiao.”

“Oh tell her I said hi!”

“Yangyang says hi,” you informed her, feeling your patience for this back-and-forth wearing thin.

“Tell him I say hi too!”

“Should I give the phone to her and leave you two alone?” You snapped, popping the two little cups into your microwave and turning it on.

“Speakerphone is also an option, Y/N,” Yangyang teased you, earning an eye roll that he unfortunately couldn’t see.

“And so is hanging up, Yangyang.”

“Alright, harsh.”

You held your phone in your hand now as you leaned against your kitchen counter, the microwave humming in the background, “Anyway, why did you call?”

“Can I not just miss my girlfriend’s voice?”

You nearly choked on your own throat. You’d been going on dates for a few weeks now, but never had you discussed labels or anything. And he just went right out and called you his girlfriend.

“Your girlfriend?” You repeated back to him, earning a squeal and thumbs-up from Chengxiao, who was still in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Yeah, is that not what you are?”

You were dizzy and light-headed, a terrifying happiness blossoming throughout your chest, “I mean, I guess I am.”

“So I’m your…”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I want to hear you say it.”

“Yangyang,” you whined, feeling your whole neck turn pink, pleading for him to not make you say it.

“Y/N,” he mimicked your voice perfectly.

“My boyfriend,” you mumbled quietly and lowly, your face angled away from Chengxiao.

“I couldn’t hear you.”

“Too bad.”

His giggles were audible and cheery and sent a spark of warmth through you, “Come on, Y/N! One more time, a little louder for me?”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

The squeals of Yangyang from the phone and Chengxiao from a few feet away nearly burst your eardrums, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear in that moment. Unfortunately, you didn’t. The microwave beeping saved you thankfully, and you quickly took the two cups out, nodding for Chengxiao to grab forks.

“Alright, alright,” you quieted both of them at once, focusing back in on Yangyang. “Seriously, Yang, did you have a reason for calling?”

“One, I missed _my girlfriend’s_ voice. And two, I want to know if you’re busy.”

“Right… now?” You asked through a piping hot mouthful of mac and cheese, immediately spitting it back out in pain.

“In like, ten minutes, actually. I have something I want to do with you!”

You mentally did the calculations, for him to be ten minutes away, that means— “Liu Yangyang, are you already driving over here?”

“Depends.”

“On if I say yes?”

At his silence, you took this as your cue to answer his unspoken question.

“Yes, you can come get me.”

“Fantastic, I’ll be there in five!”

“I thought you said ten!”

“I can’t keep my girlfriend waiting.”

“I don’t mind waiting if it means you won’t die,” you sighed, only imaging how dangerously fast he was going right then.

“Eight minutes then,” he compromised. “See you soon!”

And with that, he hung up.

Shaking your head, you slid your cup of mac and cheese over to Chengxiao, who had been steadily blowing on her own throughout your whole conversation with Yangyang.

* * *

Yangyang was there seven minutes later, barely taking the time to give a wave to Chengxiao over your shoulder before tugging you away from your apartment. You couldn’t even close the door behind you, hoping that your roommate would.

“You are the most energetic person I’ve ever met,” you commented with an affectionate shake of your head and squeeze of his hand that was holding yours.

“Am I taking that as a compliment?” Yangyang questioned, pressing the elevator button for the fifth time in twenty seconds.

“It’s an observation.”

“I can be calm.”

“It wasn’t a judgement, Yangyang. Just an observation.”

“I can be calm,” he repeated insistently, and you laughed airily at the slight pout on his face.

“I never said you couldn’t!” You replied defensively, watching his other hand creep towards the elevator button again. “But _that’s_ not being calm, Yang.”

He grumbled and wrenched his hand back from the button. Finally, the elevator arrived, and the two of you stepped onto it together. Yangyang was almost perfectly still as you rode down in it. He wasn’t bouncing on his heels like he normally did when he was excited, he wasn’t rambling on about what he had planned, he wasn’t catapulting dozens of questions at you. It was… strange.

And you didn’t like it, you decided.

“Yangyang, please stop,” you finally broke when the elevator had dropped the two of you off in the lobby and he didn’t bolt off of it with you in tow, instead calmly stepping off at a reasonable pace.

“Stop what?”

“This,” you gestured wildly to his neutral demeanor with your free hand. “I don’t like calm Yangyang. Give me normal Yangyang back again.”

As if you had flicked a switch, he immediately swooped down to kiss your cheek before putting on a burst of speed and dragging you out the front door of your apartment building. You laughed as you jogged to keep up with him, not having far to get to his electric blue car parked just down the sidewalk.

“Much better,” you commented approvingly as he slowed to a stop, opening the door for you.

You felt flush, and you weren’t sure if it was from the sudden cheek kiss earlier—you had yet to have your first real kiss, that was the closest you’d come to one—or the physical exertion from your short jog. But either way, you were in his car together, your hands linked again over his console between the two of you.

The pair of you kept up a light conversation as he drove you through the city streets. You tried to figure out where he was taking you, but nothing really came to mind. Until you saw The Dome. The Dome was the affectionate name that racers and pit crew regulars called the local racetrack, the very same one that Yangyang had most of his races at. The nickname came not from the shape of it, but rather an older nickname for it, The Thunderdome, because of the ridiculously loud sounds of car engines booming out of it during races. Over time, it just got shortened to The Dome. It was actually named after some older Chinese F1 racer but nobody called it by it’s real name.

As you pulled into the parking lot of The Dome, it didn’t seem to be open. There was only one other car there, clearly labelled SECURITY, and the ticket booth lights were off.

“Is it… open?” You questioned as Yangyang parked the car across five different parking spots.

No point in parking well if nobody else was there, right?

“No, it’s an off day for The Dome. Perfect for us,” he informed you excitedly, popping open the doors again.

“What are we doing here?”

“All will be revealed soon,” your boyfriend said mysteriously as he took your hand and led you towards a door off to the side of the ticket booth.

“Are we breaking in?” You asked hesitantly as he fished a key out of his pocket, looked both ways, then stealthily unlocked the door.

“Not technically.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m friends with Youngho, the head of security. He said I could use the track today, as long as we snuck in and didn’t explicitly let him know we’re here.”

“Oh so he’s turning a blind eye to us breaking in.”

“Must you always rain on my parade?” He sighed as he pushed the door open, letting you enter first.

“I’m just gathering the facts.”

“Ah yes, my inquisitive journalist,” Yangyang’s remark was half-teasing half-prideful as he took your hand back in his and started leading you through the darkened hallways.

At one point you could hear footsteps just around the corner from you, and Yangyang pressed a finger to his lips. Before breaking out into a run in the opposite direction, yanking you along with him. You could barely control your adrenaline-fueled giggles as you sprinted to keep up with him, occasionally glancing behind you to see if you were being followed. You weren’t, thankfully, but neither of you slowed down until Yangyang had thrown the door to the pit garage open and slammed it behind you.

You finally caught your breath, still grinning madly from the pseudo-chase you just had. Reason told you that even if you were ‘caught,’ you wouldn’t have been in any trouble. After all, you were there with Liu Yangyang, The Dome’s pride and joy. But nonetheless, the excitement of it all was elating.

Yangyang let go of your hand to open the next set of doors you encountered. Well, it was more like a large metal gate that made the loudest whirring sound you’d ever heard in your damn life as it opened to reveal the track.

“Okay, go wait out there for me!” Yangyang hurried you out onto the track, practically shoving you by your shoulders.

After the gentle but insistent manhandling by your boyfriend, you stopped where he wanted you, giggling, “Should I close my eyes, too?”

“Oh, you read my mind!” He took your hands and put them over your eyes, his own slightly rough and practically shaking with excitement.

Then he disappeared from beside you. The grin on your face couldn’t be wiped off as you awaited whatever thing he was going to surprise you with. Judging by the fact that you were at The Dome, it was probably something to do with his race car.

But your thudding heart wasn’t just because of the anticipation building inside of you, but because of who you were with. Yangyang truly made you happy, in every crazy, off-track moment you spent with him. It was almost terrifying how much you liked him, how much you wanted to just see him and be around him. It was like calling him your boyfriend had opened the floodgates of your heart and you weren’t sure if they’d ever close back up.

The growling of an engine and wind whipping across your face from a car zipping by you fully took you from your thoughts. You were tempted to peek as you spun to face where the sound of the car engine had gone. It sounded as if it had stopped, but the powerful purr didn’t let up.

“Open your eyes!” Yangyang’s voice came from nearby, and you obliged.

He had his arms crossed over his chest and was casually leaning against a race car. It wasn’t the one he had driven at the last race you’d seen, but still impressive. Electric green paint was barely visible from underneath the multitudes of stickers plastered along it. From oil companies, fast food companies, sporting brands, it seemed like every company had sponsored him at some point and got to have their logo on his car.

“Oh that’s cool,” you breathed out, nearing the car hesitantly as your uncertain fingers found a sticker right by Yangyang that was peeling up on the passenger door and smoothed it back down.

Yangyang was still leaning exactly where he was before, just a few inches from you, and you suddenly felt hot. You weren’t sure if it was from the sun, the running engine, or him.

“The other side is pretty cool too,” he told you with a grin, taking your hand in his to guide you around to the driver’s side.

Your eyes kept scanning the stickers as you followed him around the front of the hood. The driver’s side window was rolled down, and you were finally able to see inside of it. Peering into the car, you saw that there were no back seats, completely taken out and housing some kind of machinery that you weren’t quite sure the purpose of. However, the driver and passenger seats were still installed.

And there was a helmet on each seat. _Two_ helmets.

“We’re not…”

“Going on a joyride?” Yangyang finished your sentence. “Of course we are!”

You looked over to him with an eyebrow raised, and snorted, “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you drive me in this thing.”

“Oh I’m not. _You’re_ going to be driving _me_ in this thing.”

“No. Nope. No way.”

“Yes way.”

“How would your friend Youngho be able to turn a blind eye to this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Despite your protests, you still somehow ended up behind the wheel, helmet strap securely fastened under your chin and Yangyang in the passenger seat beside you. Your eyes widened as you looked over the controls.

“Is this stick? I never learned to drive stick!” The panic was evident in your voice as you tried to plead your way out of this, “I’m going to break your entire car or something!”

“It’s just a practice car,” Yangyang shrugged nonchalantly, not doing much to calm you.

He grabbed the back of your hand and maneuvered it down onto the stick, his own hand resting atop yours, “I’ve got the stick, you focus on the wheel and the pedals. Just tell me when you’re going to speed up.”

“Never. I’m never going to speed up,” you shook your head fervently.

“I think you will. It’s a lot of fun once you get going,” he seemed pretty confident in that, but you weren’t so much.

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you tried to push your nerves out of the way. You know how to drive an automatic, this shouldn’t be too different, especially with Yangyang taking care of gear shifting for you. All you had to do was hit the gas and turn the wheel, right? No, no, there was another pedal down there. The… clutch?

Focusing back on the task at hand, he said, “Okay, press on the clutch—the pedal on the far left—and the brake—the middle pedal—while I take it out of park.”

You did as he asked, then immediately ripped your feet back off the brake, a squeak escaping your mouth as the car jerked, then started rolling.

“Y/N, are you going to actually drive the car?” Yangyang pulled you back out of your thoughts.

Apparently, you had rolled for quite a bit in idle.

“Oh, yes.”

“Press the clutch and the brake again please.”

You did so.

“Okay, I’m going to put it in first gear now.”

You managed to hold back an embarrassing yelp as Yangyang gripped your hand tighter to move the stick.

“You can take your foot off the brake now.”

The car jerked a tiny bit, but you held your nerve.

“Okay, now ease off the clutch as you gently start pushing on the gas.”

“I am easing off the clutch, and pressing the gas,” you talked yourself through it slowly, knuckles on the wheel nearly turning white as the car started actually moving forward.

“Good, Y/N, you’ve got it moving,” Yangyang praised you.

“Okay, now that’s a turn coming up. A left turn. Turn the wheel to the left.”

You told yourself every little step you were about to do, much to your boyfriend’s amusement.

“You sound like an alien pretending to be a human driving a human car instead of a spaceship,” Yangyang snickered.

“Would you rather I forgot to turn and crash us into the barricade?”

“That’s part of the fun! You always remember your first crash on the track,” he sighs wistfully, earning a side-eye from you.

“You’re terrifying sometimes, Yang.”

“Eyes on the road, Y/N.”

With a heavy blush that thankfully wasn’t visible from underneath the helmet, you looked back to the track. Maybe you were getting the hang of this.

“Okay, I’m going to accelerate a little bit,” you informed Yangyang, feeling his grip tighten on your hand again in anticipation.

“Take your foot off the gas and press on the clutch again.”

You did, feeling as he changed gears again for you. Into a faster one. You pressed down on the gas pedal tentatively. And you _shot_ forward. That was most definitely not ‘a little bit’ of acceleration. You weren’t even close to flooring it and you’d gone from 20 to 50 in just a few seconds.

“That’s not a little! I didn’t mean to do that!” You exclaimed, feeling a smile worming its way across your lips. Either a paradoxical reaction from fear, or maybe you were as crazy as the man next to you, who was currently laughing his ass off.

Yangyang giggled as you continued accelerating, the numbers on the dash gradually going up at a rate you were definitely uncomfortable with.

“Foot off the gas, press the clutch again!”

And he shifted another gear up.

Your boyfriend seemed absolutely delighted as the turn came up much quicker than last time, and you had to jerk the steering wheel to avoid plowing into the barricade. You slid around in your seat, only realizing then that you didn’t have your seatbelt on. Looking over, neither did Yangyang.

“Oh my god, we forgot seatbelts!” You yelled out, taking your foot off the gas.

“You better not slam on the brakes right now, you’ll tear my engine up.”

Despite his words of warning, he seemed to be genuinely enjoying this, still laughing his head off with no intention of shifting the gears at all.

“Then tell me how I can!”

“Nope! This is all part of the fun!”

“If I die on this track I swear to God I will haunt your bitch ass forever, Liu Yangyang!”

“We’d both die if you crashed right now, Y/N, so you’d need a new plan then.”

“You are terrible at assuaging fear, Yangyang.”

“Alright, alright, if you’re not having fun, we can stop,” Yangyang relented, squeezing your hand partially in reassurance and partially to get ready to shift the gear again.

As you took another sharp turn, a little giggle bubbled out of your mouth. Swallowing your pride, you stepped on the gas harder, “Maybe I am having fun.”

“That’s my girl!”

* * *

After a couple of heart-racing laps around the track, you declared that if you did any more you might pass out. The two of you worked together to slow the car down, ending up by the gate again as you finally put it in park. You didn’t turn it off yet, pulling your helmet off with an appreciative sound. Setting the helmet on your lap, your fingers reached up to work through your matted and sweaty hair, head lolling to the side to look at Yangyang as you did so.

His helmet was off too, and he was already looking at you, a wide grin that mirrored your own and pride gleaming in his eyes.

“You did it Y/N! And you didn’t kill us!” He praised you.

“Truly an accomplishment, huh?” You joked, breathing rather heavily for the minimal physical effort you had put forth.

“That was seriously awesome, Y/N. You had fun at the end, right?”

“Yes,” you admitted with a nod. “I kind of did.”

“Told you.”

“Alright, you’re going to pull this back into the garage, I don’t trust myself,” you declared as you broke eye contact with Yangyang to turn towards your door, your hand wrapping around the door handle.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You went to look back at him again, an inquisitive ‘hm?’ already forming in your throat. But before it could pass your lips, something else had sealed them. Yangyang’s lips, specifically. Yangyang was kissing you.

You dropped the door handle to be able to place a hand on his shoulder, your head tilting to preen into his gentle hand that was cupping your cheek. His mouth was soft and tender against yours, not pushy, not forceful. Firm, yes, but in a comforting and inviting way, leaving you just craving more as he pulled back, breaking the kiss. His thumb affectionately stroked your cheek as he paused with his face just a few centimeters from yours, eyes looking into yours almost pleadingly. Like a puppy who wasn’t sure if they were in trouble or not.

And he most certainly was _not_.

This time you leaned in to kiss him again, and it was a moment before you could feel him smile against your lips, and he had to pull back again as he giggled.

“What’s so funny?” You chuckled habitually as well, confusion in your voice as you watched him grab your hand from his shoulder and lace his fingers with yours. “Yangyang? What are you grinning like an idiot for?”

“I’m just…” he sighed as he squeezed your hand, then looked back up from your joined hands to look you in the eye. “Really happy.”

“Me too,” your head ducked from sudden shyness as you reciprocated his feelings. “Me too.”

“Alright,” Yangyang leaned back from you, putting a pause on the moment. “I’ll go park the car.”

* * *

It was a few weeks later that had you back in the lounge, head resting in Yangyang’s lap, and the movie on the screen completely forgotten. He had previously been making the occasional quip about the ridiculous romantic comedy, and you easily followed along with his jokes. But then he had just kissed you out of nowhere—which had become a recurring thing in your relationship—and now you most definitely _were not_ paying attention to the film.

Your fingers had just curled around the back of his neck when you heard a dramatic scream.

“Oh God! Oh Lord! My eyes! I’m scarred for life!”

Yangyang pulled back from you with an eye roll and a sigh ready, “Ten, can you shut the fuck up?”

“Can you two stop making out in the lounge that you share with six other people?”

“This is the first time you’ve seen us actually kiss. The other three times you flipped out was a cheek kiss, holding hands, and _sitting next to each other_.”

“It’s still disgusting.”

“Ten, you’re ridiculous,” you finally entered the conversation, eyes following your friend’s head as he walked around the room.

“And you guys are gross.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed for Yangyang’s hand, linking your fingers loosely with his.

“Get a room, you two!”

“We’re holding hands!” Yangyang argued as you retorted,

“We already got one! You’re the one who came in here!”

Ten plopped down on an armchair as far away from you and your boyfriend as possible, playful disdain across his face, “Put a sock on the door handle next time.”

“First of all: there’s no door handle, it’s an elevator. _And_ we weren’t having sex, either.”

“I’m going to ask the cleaning people to disinfect this whole room.”

* * *

A light _‘oof’_ slipped through your lips as you set the three bags of groceries that you’d just bought onto your kitchen counter. Xuanyi and Chengxiao were behind you, each with three bags as well. You sighed in relief, letting your friends know that you’d be right back. When you all went out to the store, you had accidentally left your phone behind, and wanted to check your notifications really quickly.

As you walked back out to the kitchen, you clicked your phone on and scanned the few tweet notifications, email from your professor reminding you about your upcoming meeting about your article, and a notification that had you tilting your head to the side with mild interest.

“Oh, Yangyang tried to call me. He left a voicemail, too.”

“That’s weird, normally he just shows up here ready to whisk you away,” Xuanyi teased as she put the fresh boxes of cereal into the pantry.

You shrugged, pressing speakerphone as you opened the voicemail, busying yourself with putting away some of your cold groceries into the fridge. After all, it couldn’t be that bad, probably just him whining and wondering where you were, the usual.

What you weren’t expecting to hear was his voice to be quiet and crack as he said your name, as if he’d been crying, or maybe screaming, “Y/N.”

With wide eyes, your hands slowed as they went to grab another food item, ears completely focused on the message, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I did this to you. I miss my home so much… and I realize now that I might not have even liked you in the first place, and I am just so sorry I can’t—I’m sorry.”

_Click_.

Your voicemail box asked if you wanted to replay the message, but you ignored it.

Looking to Xuanyi and Chengxiao, who seemed as stunned as you, you could only manage to ask, “Did he just… break up with me?”

* * *

You didn’t cry that night, or the next night. No, you cried after it had been five days without him. It wasn’t even that he was ignoring your calls and texts.

Every time you tried to send a text, it would error out.

Every time you tried to call him, you got that same automated message telling you that the number you were trying to call was unavailable at this time.

He was never at the VIP lounge, never at his apartment, and none of the other lounge members had seen him. You even desperately called his manager, who just went off on you for being the reason he had missed his last four practices.

Yangyang had completely disappeared.

You finally accepted this when you had desperately gone to the VIP lounge again looking for him, and instead found _every. other. member._ Yangyang didn’t pop up from behind the bar with a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper like you hoped. He was nowhere to be found. And you just sat on an armchair and finally cried.

The lounge members let you blubber and weep and stumble your way through your murky and tumultuous thoughts and feelings.

You’d been broken up with. You’d been told that the person you were into and had taken a chance on, wasn’t into you at all. And you’d just lost the subject of your article that your graduation and future career was relying on.

So yeah, you were pretty sure you had the right to cry.

Yukhei was rubbing your back with a large and warm hand while Kun nudged a cold drink into your hand.

“Here,” he mumbled. “Take a sip. Slow.”

You obliged, taking a few light sips from the bottle as you squeezed your eyes shut to force the tears out of them. Even Sicheng, who never seemed to like you much, gave your head a gentle pat.

When you opened your eyes back up, you were greeted by the paradoxically warm and piercing eyes of Hendery, who had moved to sit directly in front of you.

“You need to stop crying,” he declared with a thoughtful frown.

“Hendery!” Ten scolded him, and Dejun thwacked the back of his head.

“I meant,” he was clearly holding back his anger as he explained himself calmly. “I meant, that she should stop crying and get some things done. Don’t let Yangyang’s disappearing act ruin your life. You’ve still got that article to worry about, right?”

You nodded.

“Do you have enough information to finish it now?”

You thought for a moment. Then shook your head no.

“You can interview me. Will robotics engineering be an interesting enough subject?”

Another nod.

“While you interview me, the rest of us will keep our eyes out for Yangyang. Okay?”

You hadn’t even noticed, but you’d stopped crying as you answered Hendery’s questions. Your face was definitely still wet, and your eyes moist, but no more fresh tears were falling. Wiping at your face with the back of your hand, you could tell that he was still expecting a real confirmation from you.

“Okay. Yes. Thank you, Hendery,” you said quietly.

He gave you an almost business-like nod as he stood up, then returned to his seat on the couch.

* * *

“Okay, Hendery,” you crossed your legs as you sat at one of the high-tops in the lounge, the robotics engineer across from you. “You’ve been called a kid genius, a prodigy. How much of a prodigy, exactly?”

“Well, I was eighteen when I got my first doctorate,” he was clearly very proud of his as he told you, and you quickly scratched that info down onto your notepad.

“Wouldn’t you have still been in school then? How did you manage that?”

“My school offered an accelerated learning path.”

“Very accelerated.”

He nodded with a close-lipped smile, indicating for you to continue onto your next question.

It took you a second to scramble together a coherent question, feeling your focus already slipping to something else, “How many doctorates do you have now? And in what subjects?”

“One in mechanical engineering, another in robotics engineering, and I’m one year out from getting another in physics.”

The pencil in your hand hovered over the paper, but you didn’t write anything. In truth, his words had passed right through your awareness as you were lost in thought. Boarding school. Where Hendery had met Yangyang. Yangyang, who had never liked you in the first place, who disappeared without warning.

Hendery snapped his fingers in front of your face, “Y/N?”

“Sorry, sorry, thinking,” you muttered.

“About Yangyang?”

“A little.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m pathetic, I know!” You snapped, and the man across from you seemed to be resisting rolling his eyes at you.

“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that you’re being unproductive and need to focus on getting this article done. Whatever’s up with Yangyang can wait until _after_ you’ve graduated. Unless you want to be homeless and stupid because of some stupid guy who did something stupid,” he practically scolded you, words firm and gaze unrelenting. “I’m here trying to help you, and you’re wasting my time and yours. Do the interview or be sad, pick one.”

With a bitter sigh from the realization that he was right, you sat up straighter in your seat, “Interview.”

A distinct and soft _ding!_ caught your attention, and you briefly flicked your eyes over to the elevator to see who was coming up. Probably Kun, back from his most recent flight to Tokyo, or maybe Ten, getting off shift from the hospital. Literally anybody else except who actually stepped off of it.

Yangyang didn’t quite ‘step’ so much as _tripped over himself_ in his rush. He barely caught himself on the corner of the couch to keep from faceplanting into the carpet. You’d never seen him looking so disheveled, distress apparent across his face and a wildness in his eyes you’d never seen before.

“Y/N! Hendery! Hendery, how could you—”

“It’s an interview, Yangyang,” Hendery deadpanned, apparently reading his friend’s thoughts. “Since you fucking disappeared in the middle of yours.”

“Oh,” Yangyang was at ease for a split-second before he protested much louder than was necessary in the silent room. “Wait no! _I’m_ the one being interviewed by _my_ journalist girlfriend!”

Hendery gracefully slid off his seat, “Yeah, I’m going.”

Neither you nor Yangyang moved until the elevator doors closed behind Hendery.

Finally, you took a shaky breath and turned to Yangyang, a seething rage filling your chest as you glared at him, “What the _fuck_ , Yangyang? You leave me a voicemail telling me you never liked me in the first place, disappear for two fucking weeks without a word, leaving me with an unfinished article and my hopes of a future career in shambles, then come back interrupting my _new_ interview and calling me your girlfriend again?”

Your voice had gotten louder and louder as you listed all the things he’d done, hopping off your seat to be able to stand and properly face him, fists clenched at your sides and a nearly rabid amount of spit gathering at the corners of your mouth. Never had you ever felt an intense feeling, and you didn’t even know which one it was in that moment. Anger? Sorrow? Surprise? Betrayal? Happiness? Whatever it was, it was a burning current in your veins, and you knew that it was all Yangyang’s fault.

“Please, please let me explain, Y/N.”

Seeing Yangyang pleading, tears gathering in his desperate eyes, calmed you a little. Enough for you to spit out a question.

“Where the fuck did you go?”

The relief apparent across Yangyang’s face was almost immediate as you gave him permission to explain himself, “Germany. Home. For as long as I’ve been in Hong Kong, I’ve missed Germany. I thought I was homesick, I thought that I was just using you and the interview to fill that hole. And I knew that you didn’t deserve that.”

“I also didn’t deserve these past two weeks, either, Yangyang.”

“I know, I know. But while I was in Germany, I felt even worse than before. An even more intense, ill feeling of missing than when I moved away. I missed _you_. I missed you more than I had ever missed my home.”

You were quiet, gnawing on your bottom lip as you appraised Yangyang and his story.

He took your lack of response as a cue to continue.

“As soon as I realized it, I got the first flight back here, and went right to your apartment. Obviously, you weren’t there. Your roommates told me you were here with Hendery and I… assumed the worst, I guess. I also think I scared them a little.”

Again, you replied to him with silence, but a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth nonetheless at the mental image of Liu Yangyang actually scaring Xuanyi and Chengxiao. An unlikely and humorous thought.

“I like you, Y/N. I really do. More than an adrenaline high, more than homesickness, more than anything.”

“More than your cars?” You teased, officially allowing light banter into the conversation.

Yangyang was more than happy to play along, “That’s a tough one, but yes.”

You practically threw yourself into his arms, overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment, joy, and a huge weight lifting from your being. Yangyang didn’t hesitate in hugging you back, bone-crushingly tight but somehow it wasn’t enough.

Pushing back your urge to kiss him, you instead buried your face in his neck for a moment then declared, “You have to promise to never do shit like this again, to come talk to me if you’re worried about something, especially if it has to do with me and our relationship, okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I didn’t even know if you were alive. Fucking Europe, Germany, no service. Freaking scared me to death, Yang.”

“I’m sorry.”

Keeping your arms linked around his neck, you put enough distance between you two to properly look him in the face, “I know you are, Yang. I know.”

And you finally let yourself kiss him again.

* * *

“So how much of this are you putting in your article?” Yangyang asked later that night as the two of you laid in his bed together, his bare chest pressed to your back.

“The part about you driving like a fucking madman, for sure,” you told him. “And maybe I’ll add in when you forced me against my will to drive your death machine, thus almost killing the both of us, if I decide to make it a journalist-inclusive piece.”

“You said you had fun!”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a death machine.”

“Anyway, I was referring more to… the past two weeks.”

“Oh,” you wrinkled your nose. “None. I don’t plan on putting in anything about our romantic relationship. I don’t need everybody knowing my business about my stupid boyfriend who disappeared to Germany for two weeks and I immediately took back like a fool.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool.”

“Oh I definitely am.” Craning your head, you pressed your lips to his gently, “For sure.”

“Well then you’re my fool,” he grinned, pecking your nose.

“And you’re my stupid boyfriend.”


End file.
